Page 35 of Mistletoe Missus
Carelessly, I discarded my clothing and left a mess in his bathroom out of spite. My husband wanted a good girl, but even innocent girls could turn bad, and Mitt Morgan brought out the worst in his wife. I was a firecracker with flaming cheeksin a crisp, white long-sleeved dress shirt. The damn fabric even smelled like Mitt.
Goddamn it!
Slowly, I opened the bathroom door and peeked through a crack in the door. The room was dark with no lights on. Mitt must’ve turned them off. Stillness came from the room without him anywhere in sight because it was too dark. My eyes needed time to focus and hopefully spot him in the blackness he had created. Or better yet, maybe he had left and reconsidered his hasty words. Perhaps he had changed his mind and would sleep in another room after our ridiculous fight. With my head clearer, I could see how stupid I had been acting, and possibly he felt the sting too. There was only one way to find out, so I opened the bathroom door to step into the room.
Suddenly, light from a side table blinded me, and black dots danced before my eyes. My hands came up to shield the brightness, and I cursed out loud. Until Mitt’s body blacked out the glare and illuminated around his tall figure.
“Holy shit, Mitt! Would you turn off the damn light?”
Mitt didn’t listen, and he froze in place.
My husband grabbed my wrists and instantly pulled me toward him. My lips parted in surprise and a slight gasp escaped me. His body heat surrounded every fiber of my being as the temperature rose inside of me and his knuckles gently caressed my face. My heart was beating in my chest at a mile per minute, completely surprising me. Then I saw Mitt’s intense hazel eyes swirl with worry and a flash of something sinister. He was dangerous and nobody wanted to mess with him, not even me. But I found myself caught up in my dear husband’s firm embrace as he swallowed hard and gently touched my cheek with his fingertips.
“Angel, where did you get this scar?” Mitt asked, full of concern and caution. “Who did this to you, Wife?”
Mitt brushed his thumb over the old wound and he never took his eyes off me. His unease over someone hurting me ignited heat inside me at an undeniable pace, and the electric current from his lingering touch zapped straight down to my bare toes. We were a live wire about to combust with sparks flying between us.
Once I could muster up words, I snapped in a whispered tone, “Why do you care?”
“Because you are mine and no one messes with my wife,” Mitt hissed with his breath hot against my face.
Mitt was being presumptuous again. It was only an ego thing, and I couldn’t believe I thought he actually cared about me. I was only Mitt’s property, a piece he needed in his game to defeat and conquer all. I didn’t matter, and I was over him.
“It’s none of your damn business,” I spat and backed up.
It was an unladylike gesture, as I was sure spit hit his face, and I slapped his hand away. Red rage fumed in me one too many times today, and I was tired. I wanted to go to bed and forget this day had ever existed. Enough was enough.
Instantly, Mitt possessively grabbed the back of my neck and growled, “Everything about you is my fucking concern.”
Mitt wouldn’t let me go as I stared into his dangerously heated gaze, and I couldn’t turn away. The tremble from his body quaked, and the muscles in his jawline twitched. He was borderline scary to anyone who didn’t know him, but I smiled because I had gotten under his skin.
“And what would you do about it, my dearest husband?” I questioned.
“I’d end them. Kill them with my bare fucking hands and stare the devil straight in the eyes when I met him in hell because you are wortheverything.”
Mitt’s response melted my icy heart as he broke down all the frozen walls surrounding it. He was dead serious, and Iwas stunned. I wasn’t expecting my husband to utter such unspeakable words after everything he had done to me. I was getting to him, or I was going completely insane.
“Well, you won’t be killing anyone, Mitt,” I admitted with a half laugh.
“What’s so damn funny?” Mitt groaned and pulled me in more until our noses brushed. “I’ll do it. I’d kill anyone for you.”
Shit. My heartbeat flooded my ears, and I was on the brink of producing an avalanche—a snowy mess within the depths of me, and God was I a sucker for a protective man.
I placed my hands on his bare chest. “No, Mitt. Nobody did this to me.”
Mitt’s eyes fluttered in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“I got this scar from a fallen icicle when I was a kid,” I explained as Mitt loosened his hold on me and listened intently. “My childhood was full of the great outdoors, but once that dang icicle cut my cheek, I’ve feared them ever since.”
I’d never told anyone the truth, not even my best friend. I stood there in shock that Mitt had got the secret out of me. I always hid the nasty scar underneath all of my makeup. I wore cosmetics to appear perfect for my husband without one blemish, especially a nasty old wound nobody wanted to see because the sight was pretty ugly. I couldn’t even sleep with past boyfriends without makeup on in fear they’d leave me. Any minute now, Mitt would take off from such a gruesome sight. He’d turn away any second and leave me all alone.
But Mitt didn’t go.
My husband stayed.
Mitt looked at me for me, all banged up and damaged. My imperfection didn’t scare him, but those dreadful frosty crystals frightened me. I won’t go anywhere near them.
Mitt groaned and let go of me. He did a complete one-hundred and eighty from teetering on the edge of danger todetermination as he backed up and spun away from me. He left me bewildered as he stalked across the bedroom and toward the bedroom door.
